


Tales from the Starship Bentley

by WeAreStarStuff



Series: Conquest of Spaces (Sci-Fi AU) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale wears a dress but keeps his pronouns because both are valid, Character Study, Light Angst, Other, She/her pronouns for Crowley in the second chapter, but not in this fic, i have come to the conclusion that somebody needs to help these kids, just trying to see what these four are all about, soon though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreStarStuff/pseuds/WeAreStarStuff
Summary: a series of vignettes about the Bentley6 crew. Won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read "Who Leaves Paradise?"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley(Good Omens)
Series: Conquest of Spaces (Sci-Fi AU) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860088
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	1. The Dress (Crowley's Tale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Kainnanthi on tumblr for the beta.

In the year since Crowley had picked him up from Elysium, Aziraphale had proven himself to be quite the collector. First, there were the books (oh so many books). But Crowley knew that one was going to happen early on. And then there were the antique silver spice boxes (“ _ Oh, but look, Crowley! They’re so tiny and elegant _ !”). But what he didn't foresee was the clothes. 

While it was nothing compared to the expansive wardrobe he’d mentioned leaving behind (no great loss as most of it had been provided by King Fucking Gabriel, Asshole Fiancé Extraordinaire), he had quickly built up a good-sized wardrobe on  _ The Bentley.  _ Full of articles from just about every world they’d visited. 

There were the coats from New Venus, suits from Calliope, and some sparkly jewelry from Hephaestus that Crowley had stolen for him just to earn the view of that adorable wiggle.

And then there was _The_ _Dress™._

Or, as Crowley called it, one of the most dangerous tools in the angel’s arsenal. 

It was cream-colored silk with a Bateau neck, bell sleeves, and a sweet little sky blue bow at the waistline. It was shorter than any of his other outfits, stopping well before the knees, flashing Crowley a glimpse of Aziraphale’s tantalizing thighs.

Paired with the halo of platinum blonde curls framing his large blue eyes (made up to look even larger and bluer), he really did look every bit the angel Crowley joked he was. 

There was once a time when the ensemble made Crowley weak at the knees. His first sight of Aziraphale wearing The Dress had him slack-jawed and stunned. His heart slammed into his ribcage as the angel blushed and shyly asked his opinion of the outfit.

Aziraphale’s royal mannerisms made him the best bait whenever their work necessitated infiltrating a party or gala on one of the more urbanized worlds. Perhaps in some other life, the Elysian might have fumbled amongst all the privilege and glitter. But Aziraphale was a  _ prince _ , and thanks to Lady Raphael’s strict tutelage, he handled it with the grace and ease of a master hunter cornering his prey. 

And while his prince had the rubes dazzled with his native beauty, poise, and dry wit as he made his way across the dance floor, Crowley twirled through a dance of his own, hacking the guests’ smartcuffs, siphoning from their funds. Though sometimes it would be part of a larger con. Like that bit of  _ pro bono _ work that they did for the local resistance militia on Eris that one time. 

Out of all of Aziraphale’s disguises, this one was by  _ far  _ the most effective.

And therein lies the problem. 

For you see, sometimes (“ _ Every time, Angel face.  _ _ Every time _ _. Don’t lie! _ ”) their mark gets a  _ little bit _ too handsy, and Crowley has to intervene. Usually by knocking the greedy damned bastard out. And then dragging their unconscious bodies off somewhere out of sight. Sometimes while in  _ stilettos _ !

The Dress™  _ used _ to make Crowley weak at the knees. 

But now, whenever he saw Aziraphale emerge from his quarters wearing it, starting to fasten his long fall boots (rare as hell, and not only good for rough landings but also packed a powerful kick), Crowley could only think;

_ Oh bloody hell, please don’t let it be another heavy one.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. The Shoes (Aziraphale's Tale)

In the year 2181AWD (After Warp Drive), Erisian designer, Kalisti Apate crafted a pair of impossibly tall pumps that were going to change the known universe. Crystalline shoes made from the fire opals from the mines of Hephaestus, they were also rumored to contain true Phoenix Ash from her homeworld. And when one dragged the shoes’ heel backward against any dry surface it would spark into impressive flames. The shoes were heavily protested by conservationists everywhere as taking phoenix ash disrupts their rebirth cycle.

The Phoenix Pumps were set to debut at a runway on New Paris that year. But on the big night, the shoes simply vanished. 

Kalisti Apate was later investigated for stealing the designs of one of her interns and though she was released eventually, she had lost all legitimacy in the fashion world, and never recreated the pumps.

Every now and then someone would claim to have found the Pumps, but they would always inevitably turn out to be fakes. Eventually, the Phoenix Pumps faded into another obscure fashion world legend.

☆彡

_ Kalisti.  _

Aziraphale read the word emblazoned on the ruby red sole of the shoes dangling from her fingers. 

It means  _ For the fairest _ , In a language thousands of years dead _.  _ Crowley had told him. And apparently she had taken that as a personal challenge. 

And Aziraphale would be lying if he said they didn’t suit her. It was almost as if they were made for her. Black and glittery, like a starry night sky. 

Perfect for her, despite everything. 

She was still wearing the tight black and red long-sleeved mini dress from earlier. 

Aziraphale had ruined the sweet little cocktail dress he’d bought on impulse on New Paris in their dazzling Exit. It seems even with Long Fall boots, a two person jump was a messy business, and the two of them had landed rather messily on the grass. 

Perhaps it was for the best. Crowley had seemed displeased when he came out of his quarters wearing it. Oh, dear. Maybe he’d worn this one too many times? He should probably borrow one of Crowley’s next time. 

But that was a worry for another time. 

How could he worry when Crowley had her feet in his lap while recounting a fascinating ancient Earth tale about squabbling goddesses, a beautiful princess, (and somehow a wooden horse was involved)?

The thing about Aziraphale is, he likes stories.  _ Of course he does _ , people would say,  _ he’s a scholar, that’s kind of the point _ . But they would be mistaken. As a scholar and prince, he was encouraged to like  _ books _ . And he did. He enjoyed a good thesis on Aethereal theory as much as the next individual. But stories? Legends? Mythologies? Those were the things that truly caught his fancy. But even Raphael had made pointed comments about how he was  _ getting a little old for such things, _ and  _ shouldn’t he be focused on the real world in front of him _ ? 

He’d tried to explain it once. That by understanding stories one could understand the past and if they understand the past they could shape the future! Gabriel had snorted and Sandalphon had commented that any story that wasn’t about the Goddess and her gift of Aether was pointless. 

He didn’t even bother trying to explain how these tales could allow one to hear voices of the past. And could be a window into other cultures and worldviews. Because even for a race of people who were Remade after death, these things faded away if you didn’t try to preserve them. And these ancient people could still have so much to teach us!

He didn’t bother explaining any of that. He just knew from that indulgent smile, that there would be no stories in the Silver Palace of the First Sphere. 

In contrast, Crowley felt full of stories. 

A fast-paced adventure flickered in the curl of her grin. An odyssey glimmered in her serpentine eyes. And legends fluttered in those quick, chemical burned fingers. 

Aziraphale wanted to open her up and memorize every line, every chapter, and every stanza. ( _ If you're saying you want to spread me open on your workbench and gently stroke my spine, I’m hardly going to oppose, Angel face.) (Hush you! You're injured.)  _

  
  


And while he applied burn cream to the soles of her feet (because of course, the utter madwoman would steal a pair of exploding hellfire shoes!), he wondered what stories would be told about them one day. Maybe just maybe, she would allow Aziraphale to help coauthor the epilogue. 


	3. The Garden (Adam's Tale)

  
  
  


The gardens of Elysium’s Third Sphere were said to be the most beautiful and well tended in the known systems. And to the four children who frequented it, it was practically an entire kingdom unto itself. 

Commoners were barred from entering the Prince’s personal gardens. But for Adam and his friends, that was merely a suggestion. His family had tended the gardens for generations and Adam did have a key, but if he were honest? The child-sized hole in the antique stone gate was so much more fun. 

The garden was full of fruit trees, exotic animals, and artistically broken structures and statues (perfect for climbing). There was even a shallow pool with gems at the bottom!

The Prince’s garden was the children’s perfect kingdom and Adam was their king. Just like everyday, he was holding court at the large Terran apple tree in the middle of the garden. 

The low boughs made the best throne a kid could ask for. 

With a careful balancing act, the little king walked up the branches and plucked four apples. One for each of them. 

One for Pepper, whose mother stewarded the Royal Library and knew  _ everything.  _ One day she likely would, too. 

One for Brian, who didn’t wait for an invitation to messily devour the vibrant green fruit. 

And one for Wensleydale, who cut his into small bites with the multipurpose tool his parents gave him for his last birthday. 

And one to share with Dog. The little creature who had sprung forth from the pages of Adam’s imagination not even a week ago. 

There were no parents here, so there was no one to stop them from talking around their snack.

_ What should we play together?  _

_ Do you wanna see what Prince Aziraphale taught me?  _

_ Who’s up for a swim? _

Adam smiled. A little king among his subjects. He took a bite of his apple. 

The fruit became ash in his mouth. 

King Gabriel stood before him, looking majestic and regal in his fine grey and purple clothes. His smile was wide and indulgent. 

_ Little boy, what are you doing here?  _

_ What is that strange little creature? _

_ Is that right? Just like that?  _

_ Well that just won’t do.  _

_ Nothing personal kid.  _

And then the garden exploded into fire. 

Brilliant purple flames engulfed the apple tree where he had been seated. His friends were nowhere to be found, though he could hear screaming. He wanted to scream too--to fight, to do  _ something _ . But his lungs were full of smoke and he just couldn’t move. He was helpless and pinned down like a little child. 

And then he woke up. 

Adam was in his bunk on the  _ Bentley _ . A year in, and he still had dreams. He untangled himself from the bedding to get up and splash water on his face. 

Warlock was sitting on a countertop in the galley, eating his breakfast. He greeted him with the strange dialect of Enochian he and the Captain seemed to share. He offered Adam an apple (a pink one) from the basket and he accepted it gratefully. 

_ Wake up, Adam,  _ he thought to himself,  _ it’s time to leave the garden.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. The Prodigy (Warlock's Tale)

It would probably come as a surprise to most that the Serpent Captain of the  _ Bentley 6 _ was among the premier gardeners of the seven systems. Of course, fewer people have seen the  _ Bentley’s _ Hydroponics Bay than have seen the gardens of Elysium. The plants in the Bay were somehow even more lush,green, and beautiful than the plants kept in the Royal Botanical Gardens. They were also far more terrified, to the chagrin of a certain prince. 

Some of Warlock’s earliest memories were of these greenery laden shelves. Captain Crowley ( _ Shut up, Young. What else would I call him?!)  _ would teach him every formula for every solvent and solution. 

_There’s_ _a lot you can learn from gardening,_ The captain would tell him, l _ike accepting what you can and can’t control._

Like life and death. He’d learned this pretty early in his life; his teacher had been an over-watered Bael tree. Shortly after that, he realized that Crowley was guaranteed to outlive him. Using Arcanum stopped you from aging. The more you used it, the less you aged. Until one day you just stopped. (Apparently, Captain Crowley knew a few ‘children’ who were four thousand years old, because they hadn’t paced themselves). It was simple. No occult abilities equaled no extended life. 

Sometimes he wondered what that makes him. He frequently acted with a sense of urgency that often caused folks to tut and shake their heads. He needed to be the best at everything he tried his hand at immediately. The best pilot, the best artist, the best gardener. Was his impulsiveness just who he was? Or was it a side effect of the fact that he only had a century or two to do everything he wanted? It felt kinda human. Was that what was? He certainly didn’t feel human. ( _ What does “human” feel like anyway? Weak. Tiny. Always needing to be taken care of.) _

He wasn’t any of those things. He’d made sure of that. He was the child of two Lords of Tartarus. And he conducted himself accordingly. He could outfly any occult pilot twice his age, to say nothing of the human ones. Perhaps even one day he would rival the Captain for fame and notoriety. A human sort of immortality he supposed, but that was all he was getting. 

And then there was Adam Young. 

It had been roughly a year since Captain Crowley left on a standard reconnaissance mission and came back with the shell-shocked boy, his strange pet, and a prissy prince. Adam was still reluctant to talk about his life from before, but Warlock had sensed the bones of his story. 

One boy exiled for being powerless when he was expected to be powerful and influential. The other boy in exile for being powerful when he was expected to be weak and inconsequential. He had seen in those dazed unfocused eyes--this boy could never go home again, either. In a messed up way, he supposed that made them two sides of the same coin.

Somewhere out there, some trickster god is having a good laugh at the irony of their situation. 

The thing about Adam is that he had good days where he got it in his head to drag him on some stupidly risky adventure to find this cursed crown or that divine sword and usually almost get them killed. It was actually kind of fun really. 

And then he had bad days where he was all quiet and stuff. Today definitely looked like it was going to be a bad day. He shuffled out of their shared quarters and took breakfast with grim determination. 

That’s when Warlock got an idea. Time to take a page from the captain’s book. He jumped from the counter and guided Adam down the hall to a secret room. 

His friend seemed to marvel at the plants that filled the room. He ran his hands through tenderly through the sprouts and buried his face in the trunk of the rare sapling they’d found on Persephone. 

He greeted every plant with a watery  _ hello. _

_ It’s a good thing he likes the plants,  _ Warlock thought.  _ I can’t stand them, myself. They’re so stupid. getting attached to someone like  _ _ me _ _ of all people. I won’t always be there for them. Then what will they do? Did they ever think of that? _

_ At least Adam will be able to take care of them and be around as long as they will.  _

_ It’s better this way.  _

  
  



End file.
